Torn Asunder
by Miruial
Summary: While returning home from a mission to a nearby settlement, Elladan and Elrohir are attacked. When the world falls apart, how does a twin react? rated T for violence
1. Home Again?

Disclaimer: Sadly, I own none of the characters. Or places. Or anything else recognizable. It all belongs to the Master, Tolkein.

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_**Chp. 1**__: Home Again?_

_Year 561 T.A._

"Come on, slowpoke!" The dark-haired elf laughed as he cantered far ahead of his companion, who was stubbornly sticking to a steady trot. "We shall never get back to Imladris at this rate!"

The other elf rolled his eyes as the first turned back to meet him. "And with your incessant running back and forth we shall never get there either. You shall tire poor Súldae out long before we reach the borders."

The first elf patted his horse fondly. "Nay," he replied, mischief dancing in his bright grey eyes. "She is as eager to be home as I. Our time away was enjoyable, but we are ready to return to our little valley. Súldae will not wish to rest until she sees the green pastures of home… and knows that I can sneak her an apple from the kitchens." With that he once again sped into the lead, shouting back, "I'll race you!" He flashed a teasing grin over his shoulder. "Unless, of course, you are afraid that poor Laurmaethor will be unable to compensate for your sorry skills as a rider."

With a growl, the elder elf tapped his heels into the sides of his golden stallion. Instantly the powerful horse surged forward, quickly gaining on the dapple-gray mare in front of him. Soon, the two horses were neck and neck. But just as Laurmaethor began to pull ahead, Súldae's rider gave a mocking smile. "Not bad…. but I'm afraid I was right."

The older elf raised a questioning eyebrow, to which the younger smirked.

"Laurmaethor does indeed have too incompetent a rider to win." With that, he lightly touched Súldae's sides, and they were off, quickly distancing themselves from the stallion and his rider. Said rider's annoyed shout would have caused any sane person within hearing distance to run away before the owner of the voice decided to throttle the nearest being. "ELROHIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

But, Elladan decided, Elrohir was obviously not a sane being, for instead of a shriek of pure terror, he heard his twin's laughter drifting back to him.

Elladan gave another sigh and checked his horse's pace. He knew he would not be able to catch Elrohir, who was one of the best riders in Imladris, and (Elladan suspected) in all of Arda. And, of course, having Súldae did not hurt matters either. The dainty mare was built for speed, with long legs and powerful hindquarters. Laurmaethor, on the other hand, was large and strong, with a deep, broad chest and powerfully bunched muscles. However, though he was muscular, Laurmaethor was never meant to be a racer. He had incredible endurance when kept at a steady pace, but he was certainly not as fast as Súldae. There was no sense in wearing the stallion out in a futile race against Elrohir.

The elder twin could not help but smirk at this last thought. Usually, it was Elrohir who was the calm, practical, methodical one, while Elladan was far more reckless. Now, however, Elrohir was in high spirits, while Elladan himself was in a rather dark mood. He knew that his brother was only trying to cheer him up with his antics, but that knowledge didn't really help.

The Twins had been allowed to leave their protected valley in order to aid a small settlement in the foothills of the Misty Mountains that had been continually attacked by orcs. And Elladan was _not_ ready to return. He loved the thrill of stalking the enemy, the adrenaline rush he got while in battle. Never before had his skills as a warrior and tracker been so tested, and he relished the chance to do so again. He and Elrohir had been trained as warriors of Imladris, of course, and had quickly risen in rank, but there was little difficulty or danger in protecting Imladris. Few foul creatures dared to come near its borders, and there were more than enough elves to drive back those that did. Out here, fighting with the men of the settlement, he had faced impossible odds, risked his life to save his companions, and driven evil away from those who had no other protection. This mission had opened his eyes to the outside world, and three short years in the wild was not enough. He only returned now because this particular problem had been dealt with, all the orcs routed, and because Elrohir had been ready to return to their valley for some months now. The two had shared several somewhat heated arguments on the matter until Elladan had finally given in. And so here he was, unhappily following his younger brother towards Imladris.

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Elrohir loved the rush of wind against his face and the feel of his horse's sleek muscles beneath him. He had loved being around horses since before he could walk, and had quickly become as skilled in horsemanship as his training masters. The young elf let his reins fall to loop over one arm, spread his arms wide and closed his eyes, trusting Súldae to safely carry him. At moments like this, Elrohir felt as if he were flying.

He heard Elladan's angry shout and laughed, knowing that his brother was not truly upset. And, if Elladan was paying him enough mind to yell at him, then he was obviously coming out of his sulk. Elladan's mood had cast a dark shadow over Elrohir's joy ever since they had left Titheláden and its residents behind. He knew that Elladan had not wished to leave, but Elrohir had been ready ever since they drove the original band of orcs away.

The group of orcs that had attacked the village had numbered only a hundred or so, and with the Twins' knowledge of tactics and leadership of the thirty strong men in the settlement, it had taken but a few months to completely decimate that band, with no losses and few serious wounds to the men. But then Elladan had insisted on scouring the hills around them to ensure that there were no other groups of orcs nearby to trouble to good people of the village. And, in truth, there _had_ been some worrisome bands that were now no more, thanks to the two elves. But, Elrohir thought, Elladan had been overly zealous when it came to dealing with these orcs…. Either that or he was simply looking for trouble. The elder twin had traveled far into the mountains, far enough that Elrohir was certain no orcs in that area would bother coming so far to attack the village. Elladan had only grudgingly accepted the fact that they could leave when there had been no signs of fell creatures for two months. Sometimes, Elrohir thought, his brother was too much of a warrior for his own good.

Elladan was an incredible fighter, partly because he tended to obsess over his skills and spend every free moment on the training fields. He had a gift with weaponry of all sorts, much like Elrohir's gift with horses. Elrohir, while more than adequate with nearly every form of weaponry, had never been able to defeat his brother in a fight. And it was just as well, Elrohir finally decided. Elladan loves it enough; the talent might as well go to the one who would use it.

Unlike his twin, Elrohir was not truly a warrior. Yes, he was a deadly adversary on the battlefield, he had a gift for brilliant strategy, and he had risen to the rank of captain shortly after his brother. But Elrohir was more comfortable sitting under the stars and playing his flute or swimming in the clear pools of Imladris than he was fighting for his life. Even now, Elrohir shuddered with revulsion at the memories of the many skirmishes he had fought over the last few years. Times when everything was stench and blood and the sickening feeling of his blade sinking into flesh. During a battle he never allowed such things to distract him, but he could not understand why his brother seemed to take such joy from being in deadly peril. Now, however, they were headed back to Imladris, _not_ into any more danger. Any fighting that was done would be in play and fun. And Elrohir was perfectly content with that fact.

Having traveled for about three weeks down the Misty Mountains, the two elves were now just past the foothills, on the wide, flat grounds that stretched for a short while before the valleys began. If they kept up a steady pace, they could be home in six days. Elrohir wanted to see if they could cut the journey to five days, thus arriving home in time for the midsummer celebration. He glanced over his shoulder at Elladan, and rolled his eyes. Elladan was now over twenty horse-lengths behind, a distance that was rapidly increasing.

The younger twin sat deeper into Súldae's back, asking her to slow her pace. The horse whinnied regretfully but obediently slowed. She turned her neck to gaze at him reproachfully, as if asking why he was wasting such a perfectly good flat field on simply trotting when they could be moving at a gallop. Elrohir laughed and patted her neck affectionately. "Don't worry, my friend. We will have plenty of time to fly. But now we must wait for my dear brother. I know he is slow, but we must be patient with his limitations. Not all beings are as perfect as you."

Seeming slightly mollified, Súldae huffed and stopped fidgeting, though she did shoot an annoyed glare back at Elladan. Elrohir laughed, then turned his attention to the rather irritated elf behind him.

"By the Valar, are you certain you are not part dwarf?" he shouted to his brother. "Obviously your poor bones are too heavy if they become jarred at even the mildest of paces!"

"Impertinent Elfling!" Elladan's voice, filled with mock indignation, floated across the distance to Elrohir. " 'Tis not my affair if you were born with so light and empty a head that you might float away at any moment!"

Elrohir's eyes glittered with laughter, and he quickly readied a reply, when something distracted him from loosing more insults upon his brother. At first he was not sure what had alerted him to the fact that something was wrong. Quickly, Elrohir checked Súldae's pace to a walk and glanced around for the source of his unease. The Twins were now crossing a fairly open, grassy plateau. To one side the terrain grew rockier and dropped sharply into a forested valley. To the other side was a dense grove of pine trees. All was still and silent. And there was the answer, Elrohir realized. The incessant chattering of birds that had been their companion ever since they had neared the forest had ceased. It had, in fact, been absent for some time now, Elrohir realized, but he had been too lost in his musings to notice. Keen gray eyes swept the woods for any sign of trouble, pointed ears straining for any hint of sound. And then it happened.

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Elladan immediately noticed when his brother's posture stiffened to alertness. Something was wrong. Taking a cursory glance at his surroundings, Elladan immediately realized what had caught his brother's attention. Cursing himself for allowing Elrohir to get so far ahead of him, Elladan spurred Laurmaethor on to catch up to the now walking Súldae, praying that he would reach his brother's side before the inevitable ambush occurred.

Of course, his prayers were not heeded. The golden stallion had taken no more than three strides before arrows began whining through the air, all aimed at the solitary elf on the gray horse. Elladan could do no more than watch in frustration as Elrohir ducked the arrows, skillfully manipulating Súldae so that, though the arrows rained around the two, neither was hit. But Elladan could see that it would not last. Súldae was nervous, prancing, the whites of her eyes showing. Though she trusted her rider, she had not been trained as a warhorse and could not help but shy away from some of the buzzing missiles that passed centimeters from her nose. Elladan knew that it was only a matter of time before the tiniest amount of concentration slipped from either the horse or the arrows, and Elrohir would be hit.

Apparently the younger twin reached the same conclusion, for he abruptly rolled, coming off Súldae's back to land lightly on the balls of his feet. Elladan redoubled his efforts to reach his brother as, in response, a band of men, bandits most likely, poured out from beneath the trees. Cursing himself again for allowing his twin to get so far ahead of him, Elladan crouched forward over his horse's neck, finally reaching the flank of the ruffians that were now cutting him off from Elrohir. With a snarl, Elladan unsheathed his sword and swung it at the nearest man. Seeing the swarthy-skinned bandit fall brought a grim smile to Elladan's lips, satisfaction at the fact that there was one less evil being alive to trouble the world. As if sensing his master's mood, Laurmaethor joined in, lashing out with his hooves. As an unkempt man fell, his skull crushed, the horse whinnied triumphantly and kicked at another, snorting gleefully at the man's terrified expression as he scrambled backwards to avoid the flailing hooves.

There were perhaps ten men still separating him from Elrohir when Elladan was distracted by a flash of gray. Súldae plowed through the line of orcs, minor cuts raking her legs and sides, whinnying in fear. She raced away from the battle, and Elladan could not help a surge of fear. Surely she would not have abandoned Elrohir, no matter how afraid she was? Elladan frantically searched the center of the battlefield for his brother's pale blue cloak. He was rewarded with a glimpse of a furiously fighting elf, armed with both sword and dagger, but his distraction cost him. No longer paying close attention to the men immediately around him, Elladan did not see the small, weaseley man reaching up to grab the trailing hem of his cloak. The thin man's fingers closed around the material just as Laurmaethor leapt the other direction in order to avoid a flashing blade. Unprepared for the sudden sharp tug as he leaned into his horse's jump, Elladan was pulled off balance. With a cry of surprise, he was yanked off his stallion and into the surrounding fray.

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Arrows. Why did it have to be arrows? Elrohir thought in disgust as he dismounted from his frightened horse. The buzzing missiles were far more difficult to dodge than a slower sword blade, and they panicked his animal far more. Now he had to dismount, which would almost certainly give the ambushers enough confidence to swarm him. And, Elrohir had to admit, they had chosen their spot well. Not only was there no cover for the elves, but the sun was directly above the forest, almost blinding Elrohir as he looked towards the trees. Wonderful. Just wonderful. When he needed it to be a cloudy day, the sky simply wouldn't oblige.

By the time Elrohir's feet touched the ground, his blade already in his hand, the large group of beings boiling out from under the trees had already begun to surround him. Thirty of them, Elrohir noted, squinting against the sun's glare. Not exactly good odds, but he had survived larger groups. Of course, those groups had been orcs, not men. And orcs were not exactly known for their strategy or quick thinking. Still, Súldae was temporarily keeping the attackers at bay. Though, Elrohir grimaced as he leapt back to avoid being trampled by the rearing, plunging animal, that fact would be of more help if she wasn't just as much a danger to him. So, he was trapped with a crazed mount between a group of men who apparently wanted nothing more than to run him through (not a pleasant way to spend the rest of his life), and a cliff that he did not care to see if an elven body could survive falling from. Now all he needed to make this situation absolutely perfect was for Elladan to simply charge in with his sword instead of using his bow like any sensible elf….

As if on cue, he heard the roar of rage and screaming whinny that announced Laurmaethor and Elladan's arrival. Wonderful. Now Elladan was in as much danger as he was, because Elrohir had stupidly allowed himself relax once they had left the mountains and had not been alert for an attack. True, Elladan's presence was distracting many of the bandits, but if he had used his bow it would have achieved the same purpose. Or maybe not… Elrohir thought, as more and more of the men began to turn towards what now seemed to be the greater threat.

And, that was probably true, Elrohir conceded. Elladan was not only the better fighter, but he would be able to remain mounted. The archers were apparently no longer a threat because they had foolishly emerged with the rest of the troops, having exchanged their bows for swords and clubs. And Laurmaethor, unlike Súldae, was used to battle.

Speaking of Súldae…. Ducking under a flailing hoof, Elrohir knew he could no longer hide behind his horse, trusting that his attackers would be too wary of her hooves to risk coming near him. She was blindly lashing out at anything that moved, terrified of the noise and flashing pieces of metal, not even recognizing her rider. "Súldae! Calm yourself my friend," Elrohir murmured. If he could get her to listen, Elrohir could remount and plow through the ranks to join his brother. Once clear of the main fighting, he would be able to control Súldae and use his bow to keep anyone from venturing close enough to spook her again. Slowly, keeping one ear trained on his surroundings in case any men decided to brave her flashing hooves, Elrohir stepped into Súldae's line of vision. "Hush, my wind," he whispered as the horse shied away, and Súldae's ears, which had been flat against her skull, flicked towards him. "That's right, pretty one," Elrohir reached for her bridle. All he needed was a few seconds….

A soft whistling alerted Elrohir to danger, and instinct kicked in. He ducked and pivoted, noting the path of a dagger as it passed over his head. The timing could not have been worse. The combination of Elrohir's sudden movement and the pain of the dagger as it grazed her hindquarters negated the effect of all Elrohir's soft words. Súldae reared and kicked, catching Elrohir's shoulder with the edge of her hoof, spinning him around and throwing him into the semicircle of men surrounding him.

Even as he fell, Elrohir managed to bring his sword up so that he slashed open the chest of the man directly in front of him. Using his momentum to roll to his feet, the elf drew his boot dagger as he rose. Now carrying two blades, Elrohir did not wait for the others to recover from the shock of having him appear suddenly in their midst. He slashed the throat of a startled bandit and swung his sword in a wide arc, forcing two others to jump back.

In the split second lull, Elrohir glanced at his horse, She was screaming now, rearing and bucking, starting to run, but then glancing back at him. Elrohir felt a rush of gratitude. His loyal horse would not leave him, no matter her fear. But Súldae could not help him here. There were six men with broadswords surrounding her now, trying to eliminate the threat she posed. The panicked animal would not long be able to hold them all back. There was only one thing to do.

"Súldae! Run! Ride hard to Imladris!" Elrohir shouted, his voice barely heard over the din of battle. The sound of the fair tongue contrasted with the din of battle, the soothing gentleness of the words penetrating the haze of his horse's brain. Obedience and instinct warred with loyalty and love in the gray mare's eyes, but Elrohir would not allow her to stay. If she reached Imladris, without a rider, his father would know something had gone wrong. He would send out a party of warriors and healers, who, while not in time to help with this battle, would be able to seek out any other evils in these woods and—he winced as his bruised shoulder protested against the strain of fighting—could help if he or Elladan was wounded. A situation that, if he was entirely honest with himself, was quite probable. "Go!" he shouted again, and this time Súldae obeyed, crashing through the enemies' ranks and heading towards Imladris.

Sighing with relief, Elrohir now turned his full attention to the battle, turning aside a blade with his dagger while slicing through the snarling man's belly with his sword. Súldae would be fine. Elladan would soon reach him, and then the two brothers would get clear of this mess. Focused on the fight, Elrohir did not hear his twin's cry, but he felt Elladan's sudden shock surge through their bond, and turned just in time to see his twin fall backwards into the melee.

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_I fell off my horse. I can't believe I fell off my horse! Elrohir will never let me live this down._ Shock and embarrassment were the only two emotions to run through Elladan's head as he slipped off Laurmaethor's saddle, automatically twisting in the air to land on the balls of his feet. The slap of the ground against his feet and the triumphant cry of the small, thin man who held the hem of his cloak were enough to bring Elladan back to reality just in time to lift his blade and deflect a blow aimed at his head.

His adversary looked shocked that his killing stroke had been thwarted, but still had enough presence of mind to jump back with surprising dexterity from Elladan's return blow. However, fast as he may have been, the wiry bandit was still no match for an elf. Elladan simply moved forward with the man, swinging hard and catching the side of the bandit's head with the hilt of his sword while simultaneously avoiding the clumsy swing of another man's club. The small man fell with a cry, and the greasy-haired club bearer joined him a moment later, Elladan's belt-knife embedded between his ribs.

The satisfaction this brought, however, was short-lived, as Elladan heard the unmistakable scream of a horse in pain. He whirled around to look for Laurmaethor, and saw the stallion lying on the ground, his leg obviously broken, surrounded by three men, one of which had a sword raised, ready to plunge into the still struggling animal's throat.

"NO!" Elladan cried, lunging forward, but already knowing he would be too late.

The blade descended, a fountain of blood sprayed into the air, and Elladan descended upon the smug individual like an avenging demon. The smirking bandit scarcely even knew he was in danger before an elvish blade pierced his heart.

Yanking his blade free with a grimace, Elladan proceeded to immediately dispatch the remaining two men, who never stood a chance against his fierce onslaught, before daring to look at what he already knew to be true.

The golden stallion that had been his friend through many years lay splayed out on the ground, his once brilliant coat dulled with dirt and blood. Around him lay the carcasses of twelve men, not including the three Elladan had just felled, all in various states of bloodiness. You did well, my friend, Elladan thought sadly, laying his hand on the animal's neck before turning his attention back to the living.

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**Just a few quick notes. **

**In this story, the Twins are 431 years old; they are considered full adults but are still very young.**

**I have made Elrohir such a great rider because of his name, which translates to elven horse-lord. Elladan's name translates to elf-man.**

**Súldae means wind shadow in Sindarian, and Laurmaethor means golden warrior.**

**PLEASE review! If you have something positive to say, great! If you have criticism, I will welcome it as help for improving in the future. If you don't really have anything to say but just want to leave a few lines of craziness, GO FOR IT!!!!! Reviews will be very likely to help me update sooner!**


	2. A Double Tragedy

_**Chp. 2**__: A Double Tragedy_

A gasp escaped Elrohir's lips as he watched his twin fall. He knew his twin was not dead; he would have felt it. But still he could not quash the spark of panic that began to bubble inside of him when his brother did not immediately rise. Then…. Thank Ilúvatar! A whirlwind of dark hair, green cloak, and flashing blades erupted in the center of the group of men, slaying two in less than a second.

Elrohir had just begun to breathe a sigh of relief—even while his body automatically parried a thrust from a snarling bandit and plunged his dagger in the man's chest—when Laurmaethor's scream of pain reached him. He took his eyes off his brother in time to see the golden stallion fall, his leg having been smashed by the giant club of a troll-like man wearing a wicked smirk. One of the man's companions had his sword poised to deliver a final blow to the animal's neck.

A sharp pain across his right cheekbone brought Elrohir back to his own fight as a dirty, unkempt bandit took advantage of his distraction and managed to graze him with the tip of his longsword. With a mental shake of his head, Elrohir turned his attention back to his own battle, wincing inwardly as he heard Elladan's cry of rage and anguish. However, he could not help his twin if he got himself killed.

With grim determination, Elrohir fought, his blades dancing and reflecting the sunlight. But whenever one man fell, it seemed that there was always another to take his place. With a curse, Elrohir realized that many of the men were abandoning their fight with the elder twin and coming after him instead. They had apparently realized that challenging Elladan would only result in a very messy, very painful death. Well, he would just have to show them that, while he might not be his twin's equal in fighting, he was still more than a match for common bandits. With that thought in mind, Elrohir plunged his blade into another man's neck, his steely grey eyes cold and promising death to anyone who stepped within range of his sword.

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Elladan sprang into action with a snarl. He barely registered the fear on the men's faces before his blade reduced them to nothing more than corpses on the ground. He wheeled and spun, his sword like lightning, his grey eyes almost black with fury and carrying a vengeance so strong that more than one man turned and fled from the confrontation.

Elladan noted with satisfaction that the men were giving way before him. With a predatory smile, he drew his dagger and, in the blink of an eye, the dagger was embedded in the chest of a man who had been attempting to sneak up behind him. Elladan smirked. The man had been making enough noise to alert a dwarf… and dwarves were not known for their keen senses. With a final lunge, Elladan reached the semicircle of men who had his brother trapped against the edge of the cliff. With a feral snarl, he sprang upon them, moving faster than mortal eyes could follow. Trapped between the younger twin and this snarling menace, the bandits had no chance. Those who could, fled. Those who could not fell to an elven blade.

After a final thrust into the heart of a man making one last, desperate attempt to kill him, Elladan allowed the snarl to slide off of his features, though his eyes remained dark as he looked at the bodies strewn across the meadow.

"Even now, so close to Imládris, cruel beings prey upon the weak," he said, shaking his head in disgust. "One would think that they would know better than to reveal themselves to warriors of Imládris," he added with a grin at his brother.

Elrohir was uncharacteristically silent, and Elladan immediately felt a pang of concern. He knew Elrohir had not received any serious injury, yet he could feel the anxiety flowing from the younger twin. "Brother," Elladan sighed, "I know that these were men, not orcs or other fell creatures, but we had to slay them. They attacked us and would have killed us both."

"I realize that," Elrohir replied slowly, "but…." Suddenly his eyes widened. "LOOK OUT!"

Elladan felt himself falling, and realized with some confusion that Elrohir had pushed him. Hard. He looked up in time to see Elrohir stumbling back, pain on his face and... a dark brown shaft stained with blood protruding from his shoulder.

Elladan's mind seemed to be working sluggishly. Why was there an arrow in Elrohir's shoulder? There shouldn't be. The bandits were gone. Then his brain finally made the connection between the sight before him and the faint whistling noise he had heard a moment before Elrohir had shoved him….. Elrohir….. As if in slow motion, Elladan watched as Elrohir staggered. They were right at the cliff's edge. Elladan's brain screamed at him to move, and he felt his body lunge forward, heard something that sounded like his own voice scream his twin's name, and watch, as if from a distance as an outstretched hand closed on empty air and, with a look of surprise and panic, Elrohir lost his balance and fell backwards.

"Elladan…." The choked cry was cut off as Elrohir tumbled out of sight and Elladan was left staring at empty air.

No. This was not happening. No. Elladan would not believe it. Replaying in his mind was Elrohir's face, the eyes wide in fear as he fell back, the cry for help, the look of absolute panic in his eyes…. Elrohir never panicked. Ever. And he had not been looking at Elladan, even when he called his name. He had been looking…. Over his shoulder.

Time resumed, and normal sound rushed back into Elladan's world. With sickening clarity, Elladan recognized the sound of a blade whistling down towards his head. He reached for his sword but, even as he turned, he knew he would be too late.

Blade met flesh. And Elladan fell to the ground.

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Elrohir had seen the man hiding in the trees a split second too late. He must have picked up a spent arrow as he fled and found one of the archers' abandoned bows, for the arrow that flew through the air was quite real and deadly. Elladan's back was to the woods. He hadn't seen the arrow. The arrow was heading directly for his twin's back.

Without thinking, Elrohir yelled and threw himself at his brother, knocking the older twin out of harm's way. The reaction was a split second too late. Instead of continuing with his momentum and falling to the ground beside his brother, Elrohir felt a sharp slap against his chest and felt himself thrown backwards, even as a sharp pain blossomed in his shoulder.

He saw Elladan dazedly rising to his feet, even as his back foot met only air, and he felt himself beginning to fall backwards. It was almost ironic, he thought, remembering his earlier thoughts about not wanting to see if an elven body could survive a fall off this cliff. Well, Elrohir thought, with strange detachment, this just went to show that the Valar had a sense of humor….

Elrohir saw the dawning comprehension in Elladan's eyes, saw him lunge forward, but knew it would be too late. And, more importantly, Elrohir saw the small man who had dropped his bow as soon as the arrow had left it and begun sprinting towards them, sword unsheathed. The man whom Elladan, all his thoughts focused in a panic on his twin, would certainly not see or hear. "Elladan," He choked out in warning, but he could say no more as all the air had been forced out of his lungs when the arrow had struck. He could only watch in helpless horror the sword descending on his brother above him, before his head struck something hard and unyielding, sending him into unknowing blackness as he continued to fall.

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**Just a few quick notes. **

**I realize that it has been a very, very, very long time since I began this story, and I apologize. I will not, however, promise to necessarily update faster. I write in my spare time when I'm in the mood for it, and I post these random bits of insanity that run through my head up here as they come to me. I will probably never be a fast updater, and if you want to avoid reading this story until it is complete so that you will not have to wait ages for the next chapter, I completely understand. ******

**Ilúvatar is the all powerful "god" figure in Middle Earth. He is called Eru by men. Mostly he has delegated the task of watching over Middle earth to the Valar, his servants who are still almost godlike in their power.**

**Imládris is the Elven name for Rivendell.**


	3. Awakening

_**Chp. 3**__: Awakening_

Pain. Burning, searing pain, that was his world. Surely there was nothing else, had never been anything else. Gradually, however, he began to realize that there was more. A fairly hard surface under him; apparently he was lying down. Something tickling his nose... Twitching, he tried to move away from the annoyance, but immediately desisted with a cry as agony raced through his back. A diagonal slash from shoulder to hip that seemed on fire, ablaze with a hellish wash of eternal flame. The pain was enough to fade his green surroundings to black... (when had he opened his eyes?) and cause the world to spin nauseatingly.

When he came to again, the world was slightly more stable and his thoughts less muddled. What had happened? Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes to take stock of his situation. Grass. He was lying on a rocky, grassy plain. The grass was tickling his nose. Why it should do that and why he was lying there, the elf could not begin to guess. As he was contemplating his strange situation, his gaze fell upon someone else lying a few feet in front of him. Somehow, this seemed to set off a bit of an alarm in the elf's head. Who...? Slowly, carefully, he began to sit up, wary of setting off another attack. Thankfully, though his back certainly protested to the movement, the pain was tolerable, having settled down to a sharp ache. Steeling himself, the elf peered more closely at his companion.

Former companion, the elf noted to himself muzzily. The man, human, was quite dead, a sword impaled through his chest. His sword, the elf noted with mild surprise. But somehow that seemed right. Yes, he had killed the man, had he not? It was what one usually did to bandits who had very nearly sliced you in half. But still, something was wrong. Frowning, the elf began to look around. Something was missing... something was wrong... But what? Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift back to what had happened earlier...

_He recognized the sound of a blade whistling down towards his head. He reached for his sword but, even as he turned, he knew he would be too late. All he could do was lean and twist enough to avoid a fatal blow. Agony raced through him as the bandit's sword bit deep into his shoulder, then continued slicing down his back as he twisted, nicking several ribs. He could not remember clearly after that, as black spots danced before his eyes, but as he fell, his training kicked in, and he thrust upward with his sword. He felt the resistance as his sword sunk in, and heard the unmistakable death cry of the man, but that didn't matter, because now that the bandit was no longer a threat, he had to turn, he had to see... it couldn't be true, it just couldn't! But as he tried so desperately to turn over, blood loss and the screaming fire racing through him refused to be denied, and he sank into oblivion..._

He had been looking for something... of that he was sure. Why? What could be so important? As his eyes wandered the landscape, over the numerous corpses that scavenging birds were only just beginning to find, his gaze caught on a mound of tarnished gold... Laurmaethor. Yes, he remembered. His faithful mount, cut down in battle. He closed his eyes in sorrow, but knew he had no time for grieving. He had been seriously wounded, and he needed the medical supplies that he always carried with him whenever he traveled. He judged the distance. Laurmaethor lay about fifteen feet away. This would NOT be easy. Gritting his teeth, he slowly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Painfully, he crawled towards his horse, panting with the exertion. Thankfully, the animal had not fallen on the saddlebags, and he was able to reach the bag that held his healing supplies as well as his water skin.

It was certainly cause for joy to have the most renowned Elven healer as one's father in times like this, he mused, as he carefully measured crushed herbs and powders into a bowl. Otherwise, he would probably not be able to recall how much _athelas_ should go into a potion to heal or how much of the _lostal_ root would deaden pain without causing sleepiness and dulled senses. His Elven blood might have assisted in beginning to close the wound so that he would not bleed to death, but he was still in a good deal of trouble, and he knew it. Especially since he could not reach the wound to properly poultice and wrap it. He would have to do the best he could with cold water and powders, then try to head back home for help.

With that thought, came a fleeting image of something large and gray heading for home and the feeling that he was forgetting something terribly important reared up even stronger than before. Puzzled, he tried to concentrate on what it was, but his mind seemed to shy away, as if it were fearful of the truth. Uneasy now, he quickly gulped down his medicines, grimacing at the taste, and turned to head back to where he had fallen, hoping to retrieve his sword and set out as soon as the medicines took some effect. And there, behind him, not far past where he had fallen, was a sheer drop overlooking a forested valley. A cliff. THE cliff. Memories came rushing back, and the blood drained from Elladan's face as he scrambled back to where he had been, heedless of his injuries and the pain they were causing. His anguished cry rang out, though there was no one alive to hear, save the scavenger crows, which burst into startled flight.

"ELROHIR!"

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Evening was approaching before Elladan had the semblance of a plan. He had shouted himself hoarse and very nearly tried to scramble over the cliff himself before reason caught up with him and he realized that it would take a miracle to climb safely down the cliff if he were hale, much less injured as he was. Breathing deeply, Elladan tried to pull his scattered thoughts together. It had been early afternoon when the two had been attacked by the bandits and he had, judging by the sun, spent about two hours unconscious. Another half hour had been wasted by his endless shouting and frantic panicking.

Elladan mentally berated himself for his actions. Some Lord of Rivendell he was, losing his calm in such a grave situation. Truly, he could not go down the cliff here, but a mile or so back, the cliff had not been so sheer and there could easily be a way down. He would find Elrohir and bring him back to Imladris. Perhaps Glorfindel and some of his father's troops would even meet him halfway, warned by Súldae that something was amiss. Elladan prayed that the grey mare would reach home safely, as he knew there was little hope for him or his brother on foot, both injured, and nearly a week's ride from Imladris if assistance did not reach them quickly. Shaking these dark thoughts from his mind, Elladan gathered as many herbs as would fit into a single satchel—all he could carry in his weakened state, with the pain from his wound still making him lightheaded and ill. He sheathed his sword, gathered his bow and quiver, and set out as quickly as he could manage, back the way he had come.

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Darkness was approaching. Elladan groaned as he trudged onwards, the strap from the satchel cutting agony across the small part of his back that it touched. Had they really travelled this far? Every step was torture, and it was all Elladan could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. It seemed like ages since that sunny ride across open fields… Would he and Elrohir ever have such a chance again? To ride and laugh together? It was all his fault. He should have listened to Elrohir much earlier when he had wanted to return home. He should have stayed on Laurmaethor and used his bow instead of charging in with a sword because it was more thrilling. And that arrow had been meant for him. If he hadn't been such an idiot and had paid more attention, Elrohir wouldn't be…

No. Elladan shook his head violently. Elrohir was alright. He HAD to be. But inside, Elladan was uncertain. Ever since he had woken up, there had been a strange nothingness where he usually felt his twin. Not pain or injury, but just... nothing. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. At first, he had been able to convince himself that this was due to Elrohir being unconscious and injured... surely that was all. But as the hours crept by, and there was no sign of life stirring in their bond, Elladan was having to clamp down harder and harder on his panic. Elrohir was fine. He would be fine. And once they were back, Elladan would never again insist on roaming after orc bands. He would go on his missions and go home. He would listen to Elrohir prattle on about his horses and would even allow his twin to humiliate him in the Autumn races, if only they could both get home!

So lost was he in his fevered thought and in the monotone task of simply _moving_, that Elladan nearly missed the first signs of a path down the side of the cliff, which was closer to a very steep hill now. As his tired brain processed the information, Elladan found new strength coming into his limbs. Quickly, he stumbled over towards the edge to assess the path. It was a winding, twisting curvature, likely used by mountain goats left over from a human village that once stood here. It looked to be a hard path, but possible. Brimming with impatience and fear for his brother, Elladan clambered over the side and began making his way down, never once noticing that the fire in his back was mixed with the wetness of fresh blood nor thinking that more predators than those of the human sort roamed the mountains by night…

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**Just a few quick notes. **

**Once again, I apologize for the wait, but college and SCHOOL papers have been kicking my butt and leaving me with little motivation for pleasure writing….**

**I know almost nothing about medicine, but I assume that since elves heal quicker than humans and can survive wounds that would definitely be fatal to a human, it is reasonable to say that Elladan's wound would at least clot up so that he isn't bleeding all over. It is far from healed, however, and could split again very easily. He needs a healer badly, or he is still in very real danger of dying.**

**Elladan and Elrohir are the sons of Elrond, who is the Lord and Master of Rivendell. He is a lore master and master healer, so it makes sense that the Twins would know quite a bit about healing and have a talent for it.**

**Yes, I realize that it was quite obvious from the beginning who I was talking about, but hey, it was kind of hard to leave it ambiguous for long.**


End file.
